


The Life and Crimes of Lindsay Michaud

by DrJosh



Category: The Sims (Video Games)
Genre: Capitalism, Inequality, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 06:19:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19223368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrJosh/pseuds/DrJosh
Summary: Based on my first game of The Sims 4.Lindsay, an erratic, business-savvy, kleptomaniac teenager with ambitions of being fabulously wealthy, runs away from home with a bag full of stolen jewellery to Oasis Springs. A house manifests itself.





	The Life and Crimes of Lindsay Michaud

The central problem with _money_ is that I do not have enough of it, Lindsay pondered. A whole lot more money is what I need, then all our problems would be solved. Standing on the side of the road, she started idly dreaming, again, of the marvellous things she could do with a fortune: buy a house with a backyard pool and a gnome, pay for someone else to teach Kallie how to pee in the potty, earn the respect of classmates with over-the-top house parties, fund a discreet hit on her parents... the possibilities were boundless. For now though, Lindsay needed money to blend into the uncomfortably posh neighborhood she presently found herself in after running away.

We made it, she said aloud, seemingly to no one in particular, but not to nobody.

Running away didn't feel much like running. Nobody arrives in Oasis Springs by running, least of all because of the surrounding oven-like desert. Lindsay recalled some article online that talked about the people who died attempting to run across the desert. Even if the government were to make the roads leading to Oasis Springs a jogger's dream, with shade and water fountains and footpath that was the right amount of springiness, Lindsay would not _run_ here, even considering her haphazard arrival.

Getting here was a very smooth operation, all things considered. Her phone and charger. A burner SIM card (stolen). A few days changes of clothes and a bunch of her parents' jewellery (stolen), stuffed into a stylish yet executively understated business travel case (stolen). A ticket on the bus out of town, paid for in cash to prevent her family tracking her down. A self-confidence bordering on utter hubris.

Stealing everything she needed was like second nature to Lindsay, having kept up a habit of swiping objects from whatever situation she was in. She was rarely caught. The thrill of the five-finger discount, like the fantasy of having a massive hoard of money, was at least not boring to her. Having spent a few hours on a random bus, she needed something to do - why not some petty theft? The rich wankers in this neighborhood probably wouldn't miss a garden gnome or two.

As she walked down the oddly lush street lined with large mansions and green lawns, looking for an easy mark, it occurred to her that, maybe, the rich wankers in this neighborhood would recognise someone who wasn't one of them trying to make off with a gnome, and call the cops. She needed to blend in. Okay, what is everybody else in this place doing right now? There was a quiet park at the end of the road, some children playing. A young woman in a post uniform was delivering mail up the other end. It was otherwise very quiet, adding to the eerie darkness of the sheltering houses, refuge from the midday sun and desert heat. Lindsay looked down at the clothes she had on. Dark pants, dark top. Nice looking, but hardly ideal clothes for a desert oasis.  A plan formed. Get inside where it is dark, and stay out of sight, then figure the next steps out.

Inside _where?_

Live in the park? Yeah. For the 7 minutes it would take the cops to show.

_Buy_ a home? The jewels would never be enough to buy one, in _this_ neighborhood, if they would even _let_ a teenager do such a thing. What is even the process of buying a house? Why don't they cover useful things like the real estate market in school? Maybe they _did_ , in the week she was suspended for stealing theatrical light-bulbs.

Despite the preparation and the journey being smoother than silk, she realised she had no next step. Was running away a terrible idea? The upmarket area must have private security guards and all of the alarms and fancy PIN pads and CCTV cameras. She'd be caught soon.

Lindsay, tense from a lack of swiping objects, recalling the awkward past, the stillness of the quiet suburb and hot desert day, and the fear of being spotted, resented her newfound opportunity for self-education, but opened her phone to do a few searches anyway. Yes, the market was way way way out of her price range. Yes, teenagers aren't old enough to own property. But there was an interesting article about the rich, and how more people purchased their thirteenth property this year than their first.

What do they _do_ with all those houses? The article helpfully spelled it out: renting them, something to do with taxes, and even _nothing_ \- some seriously offensive rich twats just leave some of their houses sit empty for long periods of time because it somehow makes them more money.

Could it really be that simple? The idea was enough to crack Lindsay's façade, letting out an audible _fuck_ . Let's find an empty house and just _move in_ and see how long it takes to be found out. Hahaha, idiot. You just reinvented _squatting_.

No turning back. Without a solid plan, and luggage in tow, Lindsay pressed onwards in the midday heat, rounding the corner, hoping for a lucky break. Seemingly out of nowhere, a house came into view. Wasn't that an empty block just a moment ago? She blinked and looked again.

A basic house. Some of the drywall was visible, and a few plastic sheets covered two of the windows, as though the construction workers had a heated argument with their bosses and walked off the job then and there. An empty lot other than the house. Except...an ornamental hedge maze around the back? Weird.

Lindsay knocked on the door. No answer. She turned the shiny steel handle, and the latch gave way immediately. _Score!_ Adrenaline hit Lindsay's nerves like the thrill of the steal.

The interior was very basic for the neighborhood, she thought.  It smelled of fresh paint. There was a kitchen with cheap linoleum floors, and a bathroom (wow, they must really like linoleum hey), and a bedroom (no lino, thankfully), all attached to one another without any apparent sense of flow, like the first-time architect had taken a magazine of cheap show-rooms and tossed them like a house plan salad. She turned around and looked in the final room: a play-room for a baby or child.

It'll do. 

She slumped down onto the floor in relief.

Kallie burbled an excited squeal at the big toy giraffe in the baby room, pulling the brakes on Lindsay's runaway train of thought. Pull it together, you have to take care of your little sister, who you kidnapped.


End file.
